


posthac surrepta

by nductor



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Implied Underage, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:28:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nductor/pseuds/nductor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are boys when he tangles his fists in Sabinus' tunic and kisses him. Tiberius is accustomed to having what he desires, and Sabinus is accustomed to indulging his greed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	posthac surrepta

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing cohesive, just some thoughts on the first three eps of War of the Damned. I have feelings about these two, okay.

**i.**

They are boys when he tangles his fists in Sabinus' tunic and kisses him.

Tiberius is accustomed to having what he desires, and Sabinus is accustomed to indulging his greed. It is a common enough thing among boys, the respite they take in each other's flesh, the way intimacy forges their friendship into something bone-deep and unassailable. They are as brothers, now.

Less common, Tiberius suspects with no small amount of shame, is the ugly fear that knots in his belly when he thinks of when they will be men. He lusts for battle, for command, to lead armies and win glory, and the knowledge that he will do all of these things with Sabinus at his side should fill him with pride and hot ambition.

Instead, Tiberius thinks of sharing the rest of his life with Sabinus and not being allowed to touch him, and his heart grows heavy with dread.

"Will we remember this fondly, when we are men?" he asks brashly, when they are tangled in his bed, sweaty from exertion and too comfortable to be vigilant.

Sabinus cannot lie, when he is like this. His face is flushed, eyes dark and lips bitten, and the smile he proffers is almost too tender to bear. "For my part, I will miss it," he says, pressing kisses to Tiberius' throat and then to his jaw.

This is the victory of Pyrrhus, bitter and costly. They will be lonely together, then; it is a joyless comfort.

 

**ii.**

They are men, technically, relieved of their bullae and purple-edged togas. Tiberius does not feel any different from before.

Sabinus has not touched him in two weeks, but he smiles like he wants to.

 

**iii.**

The senate comes groveling, and Tiberius sees red when his father defers command to Cossinius and Furius. He is unaccustomed to politics, unversed in strategic yielding, and he does not yet see that this is trickery. This is a lesson that ends in the deaths of the praetor and his tribune, in a tremor through the senate house, in his father claiming imperium with quiet grace.

But in the meantime, there is this:

"I need a favor," he says, as he returns from his father's summons.

Sabinus stands to greet him. "Anything."

Tiberius grins smugly and confides, "I have been set to arming my father's men. Your assistance would be most helpful."

"Then you shall have it," Sabinus says. They clasp forearms on it, like this is a business transaction. Even this perfunctory touch is more than they have shared in months, now, and Tiberius feels his pulse leap at the realization.

Later, he stills Sabinus' gait by grasping his bracer, and Sabinus bears it with dignity, as if they have not been shying from this.

"I would not have you from my side," Tiberius says, and perhaps he is too earnest, but he will not have Sabinus believe otherwise. They are still permitted to be inseparable, after all, and it is very nearly admirable that they love with such ferocity. If he oversteps, it is only in desiring what few things they are not allowed.

"The gods themselves could not wrest me from it," Sabinus says, like such a parting would be unthinkable, and oh, they are wretched men both.

 

**iv.**

Tiberius is aware that it would be presumptuous to think he knows his father's mind, but this is intolerable.

He is on the cusp of recognition, rewarded with his father's approval so blatantly that he must bite his tongue to keep from grinning, when the usurper arrives. Caesar is brilliant and unruly, according to rumor, and Tiberius cannot bear it. Even while he has toiled to prove himself worthy of command, his father has selected another; he understands now that no measure of success could have proved satisfactory. He was never even a candidate.

A lesser friend would try to calm his rage. Sabinus rages with him.

When they join the men on the Field of Mars, Tiberius grinds his teeth and prepares to swallow his pride. To bow to Caesar and bear the shame of it for the length of their campaign.

"Have heart," Sabinus says, before they enter his father's tent, touching his shoulder gently.

It should not be comfort, but it is all the same.

 

**v.**

There are many things Caesar could hold against him: his age, his blood, his lack of experience. But it amuses Caesar, apparently, to fight dishonorably.

"You and your friend," he says, grinning with suggestion, as though he need say nothing more. It is incriminating that he does not.

"Speak plainly," Tiberius snaps.

"You're fucking him, are you not? Oh, no." Caesar's grin widens. "He's fucking _you_." It is a jackal's grin, all teeth, and the man's eyes are bright with victory. "Ten thousand men in the hands of a catamite, your father _is_ unpredictable."

"Rescind your words," Tiberius snarls, and Caesar laughs.

"Apologies," he says, with no sincerity at all. "I mean only to warn you."

"You will forgive me if I doubt your intentions."

Caesar shrugs. "The men will talk."

Tiberius experiences a marked desire to beat Caesar's head against the stone. "Try to undermine me with baseless rumor," he says instead, "and I will carve out your tongue and feed it to you."

"Such promises," Caesar says, with a flagrant smirk, and he is gone.

 

**vi.**

There are many opportunities to misstep--

(Sabinus congratulates him on his rank and embraces him, and there is a moment when they draw apart, when Tiberius thinks he could kiss him and blame it on elation, wonders how far they could get before their senses caught up with them.)

(The sunlight glints off of Sabinus' armor, and he is formidable in a manner that is not unlike beauty, and Tiberius wants to strip him of his armor and see him laid bare.)

(He swallows his discontent at Mummius' disregard while Sabinus bristles on his behalf, ever loyal; they brood in Mummius' tent, drinking his wine, and Tiberius thinks of saying, _we should fuck on his couch_. Tiberius holds his tongue; it would be a worthy distraction, but petty retribution.)

(Sabinus wipes the messenger's blood from his face, and Tiberius does not realize he is trembling with rage until he feels hands folding over his own, stilling them. _You know how I admire your passion_ , Sabinus murmurs between them, _but I fear for you._

Tiberius crowds into his space in response, and he knows all of the ways to express his conviction and appease Sabinus and quell the roaring in his own ears. There is no way that relies only on words. He stands down.)

\--and Tiberius avoids each of them.

 

**vii.**

They lead the charge against Spartacus, and this is everything and nothing he dreamt of in his boyhood: the sand treacherous beneath his feet, the pungent smell of viscera bared, blood hot on his face, barbarians roaring as they cut his men down in the darkness.

And this is the stuff of his nightmares: his side opened by iron, his entire body alight with agony, his fingers numb on the hilt of his sword, and the blood that spills is his own. The world quakes beneath his feet, and there is a moment of clarity, a pinprick of pride against the tide of his delirium: he is not afraid.

At the end of all things, at least he is not a coward.

 

**viii.**

It is Sabinus who drags him back to camp, although Tiberius scarcely remembers it. The next days are a blur of fever and the persistent rawness in his side. In brief moments of lucidity, he thinks he sees Sabinus, then Kore.

Anxiety grips him when he realizes his father must be here--that his father has already passed judgment on his fate, that he has not been well enough to receive it. He thinks of Mummius going up in flames, and he knows his father will hold him accountable for the loss. He is lost again to the darkness, and Kore is gone, replaced by a doctor who is dressing his wound.

"My father," he mumbles, when he can speak, and the doctor makes a disgruntled noise.

"He will see you when you are well."

The next day, he bathes as best he can and Sabinus helps him into his armor. He feels weak merely at standing, but he will not delay this meeting any further. Sabinus has shadows in his eyes, and Tiberius is ashamed to know that he is the one who has put them there.

"Did I worry you?" he asks, and he tries for levity but falls short.

"When I saw you struck," Sabinus says, and TIberius imagines that his voice shakes. He is forward in an instant, and they are clinging together like frightened children--or worse, like lovers--hands grasping blindly and foreheads pressed together in reprieve. "I have never been more frightened."

Tiberius breathes over Sabinus' lips and nearly sobs with wanting. "My father must not be kept waiting," he says, because it is the easiest thing to say. He reaches thoughtlessly for Sabinus' hands and presses his mouth over his knuckles, clumsy and desperate, before releasing him. "Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," Sabinus says. He falls to Tiberius' side, where he has ever belonged, and they go together to meet the wrath of Crassus.


End file.
